Highway
by The Maze Writer
Summary: Phil speeds down the deserted highway with tears streaming down his cheeks. He was running away from an apartment filled with ghosts. His life was over, and all that was left of his best-friend was a suicide note on the wooden dresser.


He's always wanted to do this.

Drive the whole night away, windows down, freezing wind slapping his face. Stars lighting up the sky, headlights lighting up the deserted highway, an exit sign looming overhead.

It's always seemed such an appealing idea to Phil. As if he could run away from his problems, run away and be free. When he was a kid and things weren't that great, he would think about what he could do when he was older, when he was independent and without obligation.

Of course, he hasn't had any reason to use his plan recently. For the past six years in fact. Everything had been amazing. His life had been amazing. All up until a few weeks ago. All up until this moment he has never had the urge, the _need_ to use his childhood fantasy.

He's daydreamed about this moment for years, imagined this scene in a thousand different ways.

And now it's been ruined. Ruined by the son-of-a-bitch he called his best friend.

How could Dan do this to him?

And the pressing question, the one that's echoing through his mind, is the one he has no answer to.

 **How had he not seen it coming sooner?**

It was too late now. Too goddamn late.

All that was left of his best-friend is a suicide note on the wooden dresser.

Everything he knew was miles behind him, in an apartment he hates with every fibre of his being.

And a trip he's been dreaming of for years, ruined by a horrible twist of events he should have seen coming, should have prevented.

Nothing was supposed to end this way, not his friendship, not his doomed car trip, not everything he's worked so hard for.

This was not how he was supposed to say goodbye.

He was not supposed to come back from grocery shopping to a silent apartment. He was not supposed to call for Dan and get no response. He was not supposed to drop all the bags in the hallway and run upstairs, all while screaming his best friend's name. He was not supposed to find his best friend hanging limply from the ceiling, his neck wrapped with his black and white duvet, a note on the dresser.

Phil should never have left him alone.

He was not supposed to then turn and run away like a coward, pick up the borrowed car keys from the dresser, and run outside, tears streaming down his face, his screams muffled by his throat.

He was not supposed to take the car trip he's been dreaming about for years, and turn it into a hell ride.

He hates this damn car. He hates every single second of every single mile.

He blames himself for Dan.

Some best friend _he_ is. He can't even help the person he's closest too.

 _What the hell is wrong with him?!_

He's just a giant mistake. It's all his fault Dan lost hope.

Phil _knew_ Dan had his demons. He _knew_ that Dan was having a hard time lately. Phil should have sat by his side, spent every second holding him together before he fell apart.

But he didn't. And now he couldn't explain the regret that filled him, consumed every part of him with the racking guilt of responsibility.

He was a failure. One without anyone left.

That thought alone made his mind up.

That's it. He's done.

He swerves hard to the right, as hard as he possibly can. He wants _control._ He wants his old life back.

He wants Dan back.

As the tears blur his eyes once more every thought, every emotion, every memory of the past 29 years flash through his head at once. He screams as he's blinded by a white flash of terror, pain, and horrible, horrible loss and grief.

His heart feels like it has set on fire, every bump of the car jolting the fragile pieces of his sanity he has glued together, making them go brittle and snapping them into a million pieces. The car rolls down the grassy hill, jolting harshly, his neck snapping back sharply, his head thumping against the ceiling.

The last thing he focuses on is an old oak, seeming to grow larger and larger from the cover of the mist as he speeds rapidly into the inevitability of its embrace. There's a loud bang, and head-snapping jolt, a hiss, followed by a roaring sound as the car sets alight, the grey metal consumed by red, flickering flames.

As Phil's consciousness begins to fade, he smiles one last time.

His doomed car trip had come to an end.


End file.
